Reality Is The Completion Of Experience.

Not All Things Are Blest, But The Seeds Of All Things Are Blest.

I Speak To You. You Speak To Me. Is That Fragile?

Never To Despise In Myself What I Have Been Taught To Despise. Nor To Despise The Other. Not To Despise The It. To Make This Relation With The It: To Know That I Am It.

The Process Of Writing A Poem Represents Work Done On The Self Of The Poet, In Order To Make Form.

What Would Happen If One Woman Told The Truth About Her Life? The World Would Split Open.